THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 19, 1994 TAG: 9406160183
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 03 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Ford Reid
DATELINE: 940619 LENGTH: Medium
Oh yeah, now I remember. I was going to write about forgetfulness.
{REST} Not that garden variety ``Where did I leave my keys?'' forgetfulness or even the ever popular ``Is today really our anniversary?'' forgetfulness.
Not even the ``I can remember his face but I'll be darned if I can recall his name'' species of forgetfulness.
No, we're talking here about the kind of forgetfulness - spaciness, really - that can cause you some serious embarrassment.
We won't mention any names here, but I know one fellow who forgot to replace the drain plug in his boat before he launched it. By the time he discovered his error, water was up to the gunnels and his crew had retreated to shore where he was laughing so hard that he couldn't speak.
Another guy is in the habit of putting his cup of coffee on the roof of his car while he opens the door. About half of the time, he forgets that he put it there until it comes crashing down on the windshield a few blocks from his house.
He loses more cups that way.
Once, he tried the same trick with his camera. Unfortunately, it did not fall onto the windshield.
His son brought it home a few days later in a plastic bag. At least he brought home the 30-odd pieces of it that he could find.
Don't try to blame this on advancing age. Some of us have been doing these things all of our lives. I think that it is something you are born with, like brown eyes or stubby fingers. There is nothing you can do about it. If you are born forgetful you, and all of those around you, have to learn to live with it.
I have left forever shirts in the laundries of a half dozen towns and I have tried to open cardboard packages with can openers. I have gone for walks in big cities and forgotten the name of the hotel where I was staying.
I'm not even going to tell you the really bad stuff. I can't help it though, it's just the way that I am.
But that does not stop the potential for embarrassment.
More than once, I have ranted and raved about the Postal Service, only to find the letter in question at the bottom of a big stack on the kitchen table, stamped and ready but never mailed.
No wonder it never got there.
Usually it is a bill and I have to call back the people I have insulted as incompetent and apologize. Then I mail it.
If I don't forget.
The other day, I was trying to get money out of an automatic teller machine. The machine kept telling me that I couldn't have any money, although I knew I had some in there.
I was marching into the bank to rant and rave there (something I do pretty well) when I looked down at the card in my trembling hand.
Unfortunately, what I was holding was not my bank card but a gasoline station credit card.
That time, thank goodness, I caught myself just in time.
The bank card, I am happy to report, worked just fine in the bank's machine.
Perhaps what we need is a self-help group for forgetful people, a 12-step program where we could come together to discuss our horrendous shortcomings.
by CNB